A holiday note from my Mother...and a microcosm of a lifetime's worth of Christmases
Hello, all,
Just a little progress report of the yesterday's and today's preparations for our festive little gathering.
Yesterday:
*Procure pan for gingerbread house. See kit in Zehrs for one twice as big, but quickly disgard idea. Homemade is best.
*Procure sugary treats for same. Mindful of little mouths, purchase at least a couple with fruit sugar or no sugar added. Cannot quite remember which ones they are. Interesting field test in store for this.
*Procure many things for plum pudding. Notable in their absence are plums. Am very pleased that 3/4 of an hour at the Bulk Barn does the trick. Pencil does not write on plastic containers, but...no matter. The check-out girl is young and still has a brain.
*First glitch in the system emerges. No bowl/mold to steam the pudding at Zehrs, Sears, Canadian Tire, Am now feeling a little light-headed, but press on 'til lunch. Then, it's off again to Watsons and Bradshaws. Success....but...will it be large enough? Fill 2 litre measuring cup and pour it into mold. Success! Am so pleased I had to endlessly review the scientific method in school.
*Cannot find steamer. Vaguely remember moving it, but it is well and truly lost Move to plan B. The lid NEARLY fits.
*Return Mum's phone call. She is going to another place in Fla. and wants to make sure I have the new contact information Flushed with success, I outline the afternoon's plans for gingerbread and pudding. "Perhaps you are having a post-menopausal conniption," she diagnoses. Gregory House has nothing on my Mum.
*Mix the gingerbread "dough". Note quotes. When complete, and chilled, as suggested, for an hour, it resembles bread crumbs mixed with molasses and flour. *Recheck notes and note dough should be stiff, but this is rather past this adjective. Recheck the Internet site. Have followed instructions to the letter. Vaguely remember Dawn saying she adds something 'til something happens, but am loath to muck with the actual directions for use in THIS PARTICULAR PRODUCT. I am a literate person still touchingly fond of the written word.
*Meanwhile, mix pudding ingredients. Much chopping and rereading of instructions, but finally...into the new mold it goes. Blast, should have floured it. Too late. Note time. Fight, yet again, with timer on the stove and settle for handwritten chart on the side of fridge. Must boil 4 hours. Wonder if they're serious.
*Supper is sandwiches.
*Press the dark crumbs into the mold. Bake as directed. Smells wonderful. Cool, as directed, in preparation for the MOMENT OF TRUTH.
*There is no Christmas sound quite like the THWUNK of cast iron on a breadboard, again, and again, and again. Finally, all the pieces are freed. A little rustic looking for my choice of Victorian Home, but free.
*The pudding boils on.
*We watch a movie from the 40s. It is supposed to be a farce. It suffers somewhat in comparison to my day, but I have to watch the pudding, so...what the heck.
The pudding has stopped boiling. Test. Not sure what for. Decide to go the full four. Damn the torpedoes etc.
*Back it goes.
*The moment of truth, and by now it is after 10:00 and I am a little fatigued. Amazingly, it comes out of the mold without any problems. HA!!!
Today:
*Rejoice in the knowledge that we have made the correct decision not to leave the driveway. Our guy comes again. We will be financing a new vehicle when we pay his bill for snowblowing, but it is lovely to hear the gentle PURRRRRRRRR of his machine while I am still in my housecoat.
*In the cool clear light of morning, the pudding looks a little dry. Ask me if I care. It is for this purpose that rum has been created.
*Decide to tackle the job of "assemblage" of the Victorian Home. Dawn has given careful instructions not to lick the spoon. The sugar gently dissolves, darkens a bit then...very suddenly...bubbles and starts to burn. This is odd, think I, as there has not been any contact with the stove for 15 seconds. A blob lands on my thumb...(we will speak not of this)...and I decide to cool the scorching mass in a cool bath, reserving some for my thumb. I remember that the carmelization of sugar was the topic for my Dad's undergrad thesis. This is an interesting thought, but I quickly disgard it as the mass turns absolutely solid in the pan. As its job is to bind the parts of the Victorian Home together, this is decidedly a move in the WRONG DIRECTION.
*Decide to reheat. Good results; the process is reversible.
*First major setback. The roof collapses. Perhaps repair? Perhaps an object lesson? No time to think, as too much pressure produces major calamity and we now look like we have had a Victorian earthquake. Don sighs.
*It's all over but the cleaning of the pan. Only 10 minutes, some heat, a couple of rags and SOS and the pan is almost like new. Only a slight scorch.
*I am going back to my book on neurology. My next drink, as Leslie's mother once intoned, will definitely be a cocktail.
*May your holiday preparations be smooth and seamless and, if they are not, you can consult me in a few days as to the neurological implications.
Much love,
Mum
P.S. Will be picking up one of those kits at Zehrs. Will draw lots on who gets to handle the Royal Icing.
